


He Found Us

by phoenixnz



Series: The Chronicles of Martha and Jonathan [8]
Category: Smallville
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixnz/pseuds/phoenixnz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lives of Jonathan and Martha from their first date to the Smallville finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Found Us

If Jonathan were to think back, years later, about that disastrous day the meteors fell in Smallville, he would have scratched his head in wonder, for who would have thought that in the midst of all that chaos, they would find a miracle? For years to come, Jonathan had no doubt he would look at the beautiful little boy who had literally crashed into their world and wonder just what he had done to deserve such happiness.

He watched as his wife struggled to find something the little boy would eat. Everything was clearly new and strange to him. The tastes, the sights, the sounds. He hadn’t even spoken a single word.

Martha had a spoonful of peas in her hand and was trying to feed them to the boy.

“Just try one,” she coaxed. “It’s good for you. See?” she said, popping a couple in her mouth. They were fresh from the garden.

The child - Jonathan just couldn’t get used to the idea of calling him Clark, took a couple of peas from the spoon and imitated Martha. He quickly screwed up his face and shook his head, spitting them out again. He made a sound that seemed to be a fairly good facsimile of ‘yuck’.

Jonathan laughed at the boy’s expression, genuinely amused by his obvious distaste for peas. The child immediately turned to him, his expression suggesting he was wondering what he had done wrong.

“Oh no, sweetie,” Martha said. “It’s okay. Your dad isn’t laughing at you, are you honey?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head in denial.

“Why don’t we try some mashed potatoes,” Jonathan suggested, using the spoon to make some kind of trail through the creamy potatoes. He’d often said Martha’s mashed potatoes were the creamiest in the county, and not just because she used butter and different seasonings to give them that extra ‘oomph’. Even his mother’s had never been that good.

The child from the stars watched him in fascination as he pretended to be a bulldozer with the spoon, making engine noises. Jonathan looked up at a clapping noise and saw the little boy clapping his hands. He had a huge grin on his face.

Jonathan continued to make the noises, dipping the spoon once more and lifting it up to the boy.

“Here it comes,” he said.

His new son opened his mouth obediently although his expression was still a little wary. Jonathan fed him the mashed potatoes. The boy’s face lit up in genuine pleasure.

“Jonathan, I think he likes it.”

“Sure does, but who wouldn’t,” he replied, grinning at his wife.

They managed to get him to eat some of the stew Martha had cooked. When the boy began rubbing his eyes and yawning, Jonathan scooped him up in his arms. They had managed to clear out the spare room, which had once been his mother’s, and had found a little teddy bear in amongst the toys and clothes Jessica had stored in the attic. The bed was a little big for the boy, but Jonathan arranged some pillows around him so he wouldn’t fall out, watching as his little boy fell asleep clutching the teddy bear.

They decided to keep the bedroom door open and the hall light on, not knowing what the child remembered of his journey through space, or even how long he had been in space.

They really had no idea what they were dealing with, but despite Jonathan’s misgivings, he’d known once he’d seen the look in his wife’s eyes that there was no way they could ever give up the beautiful child.

It had been an incredible sight. The child, naked as the day he was born, walking across scorched earth toward them in their overturned truck, an angelic smile on his face, his dark, curly hair tousled and messy.

Once they’d managed to get out of the truck and walk along the crater which the meteor had created and found the ship, no more than about a hundred feet from their truck, Jonathan’s first thought had been, were there more of them? Who would send a little child out into space alone?

“Sweetheart we can’t keep him,” he’d said, even as Martha looked into the boy’s green eyes. He’d known in that instant, the way she looked at him, there was no way he would ever be able to tear them apart. The boy clung to her fiercely, as if sensing Jonathan’s ambivalence and, if he admitted it, more than a little fear. If the authorities were to learn this boy was not of Earth, how could he protect him?

He tried to tell his wife this as they sat drinking coffee downstairs, listening for any sign of the little boy waking up. Jonathan’s head was still pounding from the concussion he’d sustained in the crash, but he still felt he had been lucky.

“Jonathan, we have to protect him. Who knows what the authorities would do if they were to find out about him. Besides, after what I said to Ethan today, don’t you think it’ll be a little suspicious?”

Damn, he’d forgotten about that. He was sure his friend wouldn’t dig further, not with everything else he had to deal with. Last count, at least fifty townsfolk had been killed in the meteor shower, including little Lana Lang’s parents. Her aunt Nell was taking care of her, of course, but the three-year-old had watched her parents die in front of her.

He bit his lip. “Then how do we do this?” he asked. “Eventually people are going to want to see the paperwork.”

Martha looked pensive. “I suppose we could call my dad,” she said. “We’d have to tell him the truth …”

She trailed off. Jonathan shook his head. After the way William had treated Martha, refusing to even acknowledge their marriage, he wanted nothing to do with the man.

“Absolutely not. I am not letting that man anywhere near our son.”

Martha looked a little surprised. It was the first time Jonathan had acknowledged Clark as their son. He couldn’t help a little smile. Their son. Martha hadn’t been the only one desperate to have a child. Jonathan had always wanted to be a father, and had been devastated when they’d learned it just wasn’t going to be possible.

He remembered what Martha had said to him that day. They would find a way.

He recalled the man they’d helped on the road, whose young son had been gravely injured in the meteor shower. The man’s business card was still in his coat pocket.

“All right,” he said. “I think I know someone who can help. So, I guess we need to work out what we’re going to say on the adoption papers.”

Martha nodded. “We’ll call him Clark, like I told Ethan. I do think my maiden name would make a great first name.”

He nodded his agreement, grabbing a pen and paper and writing it down.

“What about a middle name?”

“Joseph,” Martha replied. “After my grandfather.”

“Now wait, you get to name him Clark …”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“How about Jerome? After my great-grandfather. It sounds better with Clark.”

His wife thought about that for a moment, then nodded.

“It does.”

Jonathan scribbled that on the paper, then bit the end of his pen.

“Don’t nibble on the pen, honey,” Martha admonished him gently. “You’ll get ink in your mouth.”

“You know that’s an old wives’ tale,” he returned.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Sue me.”

“I know what I’d rather do,” he replied, a twinkle in his eye.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, laughing. “We have to focus on this.”

“Okay, okay. Party pooper.”

“Who are you calling a party …”

There was a sharp cry from upstairs and they both ran, taking the steps two at a time. Clark was crying, screaming in his sleep. Martha hurried toward the bed, but Jonathan got there first, scooping the little boy in his arms.

“It’s okay, son, you’re okay,” he said. “It’s just a nightmare.”

Still half asleep, Clark whimpered, clinging to him. Jonathan continued to talk to him in a soothing tone, rocking him gently and patting his back until Clark calmed and fell asleep again.

They crept downstairs once more.

“It must be so strange for him,” Martha mused.

Jonathan chewed on his lip.

“He’d be about three, wouldn’t he?” he asked. “If we tell people he’s three, they might expect him to be at preschool,” he told her.

She nodded. “You’re right. He needs time to get used to his surroundings before we make him go to school. Why don’t we just tell people he’s two and a half, just big for his age?”

“Then we could make his birthday around May,” Jonathan said reasonably. “That way he could still go to school with kids around the same age. He wouldn’t have to get left back.”

“That’s a good idea honey.”

With the matter decided, Jonathan put in a call to Lionel Luthor, who brought the adoption papers to the farm a few days later.

It was just a pity that trusting Lionel was the worst mistake Jonathan could ever have made. 


End file.
